


colour me this

by dinosuns



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Comedy, Language of Flowers, M/M, Misunderstandings, RIP Keith, bad humour, keith cant catch a break, keith has strange powers and it causes him so much trouble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-20 01:41:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15523263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dinosuns/pseuds/dinosuns
Summary: “Whew. You’ve got it bad, huh?”Pressing his eyes shut, Keith purses his lips together. Let the universe be merciful. Let it pluck his soul from his body right here and now. He’ll go, willingly.“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”Keith has a gift, and his life is being sabotaged by the flowers that govern it. If it wasn't so much of a farce, it'd probably be poetic.





	colour me this

**Author's Note:**

> my piece for the hanakotoba sheith zine - with gorgeous art by dri and vi! the flower i chose was amaryllis - enjoy 8)

“You can’t be serious,” Keith says as he steps into the flowershop.  

Up front, Lance seems too preoccupied with arranging a bouquet of roses. But it’s all an elaborate act - Keith knows Lance, and Keith also knows deliberate avoidance when he sees it. There is absolutely no logical reason for the number of amaryllis flowers to be on display here. Walking through the main aisle, Keith folds his arms across his chest as if shielding himself. It won’t work, _he knows it won’t_ \- because they’re white.

The flowers are white.

 _Oh god._ Who knew this day would blossom into something so completely ridiculous, all thanks to the foreboding florist on the corner. Usually, amaryllis aren't too difficult too avoid. But Lance never made things easy. Keith narrows his eyes, the epitome of exasperation.

“Are these even in season right now?” _Or did you just go out of your way to make this difficult for me._

With a wink, Lance cocks a finger at Keith. It confirms everything he already suspected. “Love is _always_ in season, my good man.”

Unimpressed, Keith raises an eyebrow.

“I’m not your man. Don’t ever say something like that again.”

If Pidge was here, she’d be snickering from the back room.

“Okay, _okay.”_ Holding his hands up, Lance sighs. It’s not a surrender though, not really. “But dude - you need to take this in your stride! Even I’ll admit this weird flower-power of yours is _super cool._ Every time you come waltzing in here you make art.”

Art. Well - _that’s certainly one way of putting it_. Keith likes to think of it more as organic self-destruction. Leaning over the counter, Lance grins which is concerning because he looks ready to make a joke. “And you know, some people _love_ them.” 

There it is. Keith scowls. “Very funny.”

It’s not funny.

And to prove how _unfunny_ Lance is, Keith is halfway to the door. A well orchestrated exit is on the horizon, until he spots none other than Takashi Shirogane perched on the ledge outside. Of course, that’s the catalyst for imminent disaster. Without warning, the amaryllis in the shop shift colour from white to a horrifying shade of red. Deep, deep red. Lance whistles, moving from behind the counter to get a closer look at the spectacle. Keith wonders if it's possible to disappear on the spot, he hopes it is. 

“Whew. You’ve got it bad, huh?”

Pressing his eyes shut, Keith purses his lips together. Let the universe be merciful. Let it pluck his soul from his body right here and now. He’ll go, willingly.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The flowers remain the same, and as expected the universe doesn’t spare him from this torment. Then there’s Shiro, sipping his coffee obliviously with the sun casting a radiant glow over his skin. It’s probably the most soothing, beautiful thing Keith has ever seen in his life. No, it definitely is. The flowers stir around him, mirroring the butterflies in his stomach. _Damn this._ Lance snorts, retreating back to the counter.

“You’ve _really_ got it-”

Keith clenches his fist, imagining the way the petals would crumple from such a force. “Shut up, Lance.”

⚘

Shiro’s presence comes with the promise of something terrifying; it’s terrifying because it’s so real. The gravity that holds them together is strong, grounding. Strong roots that have grown with nurturing and all the right ingredients to not just sustain life but make it _thrive._ And that’s what Shiro has done - make Keith thrive. Shiro has coaxed the embers swirling around his bones into something better, stoked the flames within and encouraged them to rise in a way that won't smother his entire being.  
  
Keith doesn’t believe in fate exactly, but since Shiro swept into his life so unexpectedly and _brilliantly_ things feel different. Everything feels different. There’s a compelling intensity. His heart races, chasing after things Keith doesn’t think he can ever have - let alone _deserve_. His lungs sigh, expelling the ash from charred words he cannot say and they catch on the compassion Shiro breathes into everything around him. His spine twists, the pedicel of a flower searching for the sun. If anything, Shiro is that sun; an unyielding source of warmth.  
  
And when the door to the apartment opens, revealing a pink-nosed and puffy-eyed Shiro, Keith only feels that warmth more. It’s a little pathetic, a reminder that warmth can burn.  
  
“We could’ve rescheduled,” Keith manages. “I don’t want to put you out.”  
  
“I’ve been cooped up all day. Trust me, you’re not. Besides - maybe it’s selfish, but I wanted to see you.”  
  
The casual honesty of the words has Keith’s heart fluttering. Oh dear. It should be illegal how even stuffed with cold, Shiro can be so impossibly charming. Their eyes meet. Keith crosses his arms, sinking further into the gentle smile. Shiro raises an eyebrow.  
  
“You must really like the front door, huh.” _  
__  
__I really like your eyes._ “Hm?”  
  
“You’re still standing outside.”  
  
“Yeah well.” Amusement sways clumsily on Keith’s mouth, tilting the axis of his lips a fraction too much as he speaks. “It’s just... such a great door.”  
  
“Yeah, you think?” Shiro wheezes between stifled laughter. That prompts another sneeze, one he tries - and fails miserably - to hold back by scrunching up his face. Oh. It should not be so adorable, but it is _._ Ushering Keith inside, Shiro continues. “I painted it myself and everything.”  
  
“Impressive.” Keith’s grin practically splits his face in two.  
  
He can’t even try to hide how euphoric this is, even if it’s just a passing conversation going nowhere. Shiro tends to do that. He takes the most trivial things, from shopping for groceries to waiting in the queue at the checkout, and transforms them into the best moments Keith has ever had the pleasure of experiencing. It makes him want to fall further into Shiro’s orbit, tether himself to that inexplicable gravity forever so he may always feel the pull.  
  
Throwing a sheepish look over his shoulder to Keith, Shiro scratches the back of his head. “Sorry, I should’ve taken your jacket.”  
  
Who knew snotty-nosed Shiro was such a gentlemen.  
  
“Despicable,” Keith drawls flatly, earning him a playful nudge.  
  
“Hey, I match my hosting skills to my guests.”  
  
Nudging Shiro back, Keith moves past him into the living room. “Shouldn’t you be making me a drink or something?”  
  
“Right.” Pause. Shiro wets his lips, as if stewing something over. The atmosphere shifts to something more sombre. “I’ll be right back, go ahead and make yourself comfortable.”  
  
And that’s when it happens. As Shiro leaves for the Kitchen, Keith comes to face to face with his own personal brand of kryptonite: amaryllis flowers. Clearly a focal point of the room, impossible to miss, the purple flowers sit on the table. He doesn’t stand a chance. Not with them staring him down, _testing him._    
  
“Keith, sorry,” Shiro pokes his head through the doorway. It’s an endearing sight. Tufts of white hair stick up at odd angles, and it’s concerning how much Keith’s pulse skyrockets. “What do you want?”  
  
Absinthe.  
  
“Water's fine.”  
  
Shiro’s eyes drift towards the flowers, noting Keith’s fixation. Specks of red are forming already. It’s bad, really bad.  
  
“They’ve always been my favourite kind of flower. Especially the purple ones. I find them soothing.” Shiro curls himself further into the doorway, smiling at Keith’s gormless expression. Caught between _god I wish that wall was me_ and _abort the mission we’ll be exposed,_ Keith swallows. There Shiro goes destroying his composure - again.  
  
“They’re nice,” Keith says out of misplaced spite because no, they’re not nice. They’re evil incarnate.  

Pushing off the wall, Shiro’s smile shifts into bemusement.  
  
“Huh, that’s weird. They don’t look as purple as I remember.”  
  
Keith shifts his focus to his personal curse -  to his horror, Shiro’s right. Red has seeped into the petals, transforming them slowly into a different colour. Unbelievable, his life is being sabotaged by flowers.  
  
If it wasn’t so much of a farce, it’d probably be poetic.  
  
“Must be the light,” Keith winces at the awkward notes catching in his voice. “I mean, I think - they still look purple. Because they are... purple, that is. Nothing’s changed.”  
  
Fortunately, Shiro doesn’t probe. Instead, he returns to the kitchen - though not before offering an amused quirk of his lips. With Shiro now out of sight, Keith has a rare opening to fix this fiasco. Turning to the flowers, he crouches down imploringly.  
  
“Hey, it's me. Keith.” The proximity does him no favours. As if charged by his presence, the flowers burst into a vibrant shade of red that no amount of blaming the light can possibly hide.  
  
“No! Just - cut it out ... _please!”_  
  
Talking to the flowers is proving to be futile. Keith doesn’t honestly know what he expected to achieve in the first place. And these flowers have become a canvas of things he can’t ever say. So this is his last resort: grovelling on his knees to a vase full of amaryllis, hoping they’ll give him an inch _._ _  
__  
_ Somewhere, Lance is howling with laughter. Keith doesn’t blame him.  
  
“If you don’t knock it off, you’re gonna blow this for me.” There’s a pressing fear growing tenfold. With the exposure of his feelings comes so many jarring realisations he’s just not ready for. “You have to stop just-”  
  
“Who you talking to back there?”    
  
“Lance.” If there’s an opportunity to pin something on Lance, Keith will always take that chance. That’s what friends are for.  
  
Grinning, Shiro walks back into the room. But Keith can’t bask in the humour, can’t even smile back. Something uncomfortable churns beneath his skin. There’s no way to hide it now. The once-purple-now-magically-red flowers have shifted into the most obnoxious shade of orange Keith’s ever seen. Wait - _orange?_ _  
_  
Sneezing, Shiro groans.  
  
Unsure what exactly he did to deserve this slander from flowers, because orange means _good health_ and Shiro has a cold and god wow this is so hyperbolic and truly embarrassing, Keith bolts to the front door. He has to leave. He has to go before Shiro notices and everything is ruined.  
  
“Sorry, Shiro. I need to, I mean - it’s been... see you around.”  
  
Before Shiro can respond, Keith is gone.

 **⚘** **  
**

Three agonising days pass before Keith summons his courage and finds himself right back where the nonsense started. He’s not a coward, and he’s spent sleepless nights meticulously planning this. But as the door to Shiro’s apartment opens, words fizzle on Keith’s tongue. His confidence wilts, hands gripping the bouquet tighter.  
  
“Um…?” Shiro cocks his head to the side, gaze flicking between Keith and the flowers.  
  
Okay, so maybe replacing Shiro’s flowers of doom with ones that won’t betray him doesn’t make sense to anyone _besides Keith_. Maybe Pidge is right and this gesture is misplaced, maybe the timing is wrong. But it’s the best chance he has at salvaging this ship before it sinks. Clearing his throat, Keith pushes the bouquet into Shiro’s chest.  
  
“It’s a housewarming gift.” With that, the ice breaks.

“I’ve lived here two years, Keith.” Shiro sounds fondly bewildered, but takes the bouquet. And Keith shouldn’t - he _really shouldn’t -_ only he has nothing else up his sleeve to fill the building silence.   
  
“Who’s to say when a house truly becomes a home...” As he steps into the hallway, Keith lips twitch. Every piece of him is ablaze, and yet somehow this moment hasn’t been lost to the fire. Amazing.  
  
“Cryptic, I like it.” The amusement withers, making way for something softer. “And I like these a lot too. Thank you, Keith.”  
  
Shiro’s resulting joy lights up the entire room. It’s not at all vicarious, rather directly experienced due to the magnitude of such a disarming smile. The strong swell of happiness it evokes in Keith is dangerous. So much so that the wilting amaryllis on the coffee table behind Shiro burst into a jubilant shade of sunshine yellow.  
  
He blinks twice, but what he's seeing doesn't change. No way. There is no way his luck can be that bad. Before Keith can fully process that _, yes_ _he just brought dying flowers back to life because Shiro made him happy,_  the veins of the amaryllis are turning red.  
  
“Keith, are you okay?”  
  
Keith tries to be subtle as he reaches out. The petals grow bolder in their colours, matching the heat flushing his cheeks. “I’m fine.”  
  
He is not fine. Keith’s fingers touch the petals and it’s a mistake because the amaryllis continue to conspire against him. And in this moment, he watches his life flash before his eyes. Hastily, Keith shoves the flowers beneath his jacket. It’s poorly planned, but he has to do something. _Anything._ Now there’s only one thing left to do: get himself and these meddling flowers out of here.  
  
“Keith, wait. Whatever’s going on, we can-” _  
_ _  
_ It happens so fast. As Keith reaches for the door, a hand clasps his shoulder and the flowers scatter across the floor. Shiro blinks.  
  
“Are those my... -?”  
  
Keith should stamp on them, smush these _life ruiners_ under his shoes and purge himself of these overwhelming feelings. But he can’t do it. They’re red again now, leaving nothing uncovered. Looking back to the table where the amaryllis once sat, Shiro breathes a soft ‘oh’. The sound shakes Keith to the bones, breath hitching. He scrambles for the doorknob behind him, clasping it with a trembling hand. All he has to do is turn it and run. But for the life of him, as Shiro’s attention swings back to him _he can’t move._ Fear has him in a stronghold.  
  
“It _was_ you.” There’s something curious in Shiro’s voice; he sounds almost captivated. “ _You_ made the flowers change colour! I don’t know how you did, but you really did.” A smile spreads over his face. “I thought I was just imagining it last time...”  
  
“Shiro, come on. That's ridiculous.” Keith can't hold his words together, eyes averting. Hope dangles cruelly within his grasp. Sighing, Keith rubs at the tension brewing between his eyebrows. Well, best get this over with.  
  
“I can’t explain it really, but… for as long as I can remember, that flower changed colour to match my feelings.”  
  
“Like a mood ring.”  
  
Keith thinks that’s a completely beguiling, yet bizarre, comparison. But he doesn’t have time to press it. A brisk nod is all he gives before Shiro continues.  
  
“How do you make them change-?”    
  
“-I don’t _know._ It only happens with strong feelings.”  
  
Keith brings a hand to his mouth, eyes blown wide because yes he really _did_ say that whilst caught up in confessing his obscure power as accurately as possible. Shoot. _  
_ _  
_ “Strong flowers. I - I mean, strong flowers. _”_  
  
Strong. Flowers. _Congratulations Keith,_ his Inner Lance drawls, _that sounds really convincing._  
  
Shiro goes suspiciously quiet, eyes locked on the amaryllis painted the colour of Keith’s pure unyielding devotion. It’s too much. This silence in the face of an impromptu confession is too much. Keith clutches the doorknob tightly once more.  
  
“I should go-”  
  
A nervous laugh bursts from Shiro, surprising them both. Now Keith is really looking he can see there’s an unhinged element to Shiro. He seems jittery, paired with a breathlessness that won’t subside.    
  
“ _That’s_ why you bought me flowers!” Gesturing to the bouquet on the table, as if having some kind of private epiphany Keith can’t understand _but really needs to_ , Shiro moves closer. “You were trying to replace the flowers that revealed your feelings.”  
  
Being a terrible liar does Keith no favours here. Folding his arms across his chest, he purses his lips. There’s no way to get around this.    
  
“Are they... about me?” Shiro asks so very tentatively.  
  
Incredulous, Keith gapes. This is the person he loves, the centre of his universe. After all this, Shiro still has doubts. His wonderful Shiro, the warm constancy in his life - a lovely lovely fool who somehow thinks Keith’s feelings are about someone else. A raspy laugh escapes Keith’s lips.  
  
_“Of course they’re about you.”_ It’s the easiest question to answer so far.  
  
“Thank you.” Shiro’s hushed voice is almost lost to the thudding of Keith’s heart. Suddenly, he’s pulling Keith close and there’s a compelling intensity behind it. With a smile, Keith rests his head against Shiro’s shoulder. It could be nice, but god it’s so much _better than nice._ _  
_  
“So what does orange mean?” Shiro asks into Keith’s hair.    
  
Keith mumbles the _humiliating_ answer into Shiro’s shoulder. There’s still hope, maybe Shiro won’t hear him. Maybe he’ll forget he even asked.  
  
“Keith, you’re talking into my shirt.”  
  
Or not.  
  
Grunting, Keith lifts his head with a stubborn pout.  
  
“Well?” Shiro prompts, nudging their foreheads together.  
  
“Good health,” Keith laments. “It means good health.”  
  
Shiro snorts in disbelief. Somewhere, again, Lance is howling with laughter. Keith, again, doesn’t blame him.  
  
“I had a _cold!_ ” Shiro teases - never unkind, never anything but gentle - nose brushing against Keith’s. Eyes falling shut, Keith slides a hand through Shiro’s hair. Fingers ghost across his face, lightly settling on his chin and turning it so their lips graze. It’s electric. Incredible. Life-changing, even.  
  
“Anyway,” Shiro presses a light kiss on the corner of Keith’s mouth. He's still talking which is good, because Keith's trying and failing to put words into a coherent sentence. “I think it’s sweet.”  
  
Of course Shiro would love it. Scoffing, Keith ducks his head. “You’re so corny.”  
  
“Says the one who brought flowers back to life with the power of his feelings.” For that, Shiro gets a gentle headbutt to his chin. “Alright -” laughing, he cradles the back of Keith’s head. “I guess I deserved that.”  
  
Keith struggles to process the words. They’re so close. So impossibly close.  
  
“So now you know everything,” he finally says. Leaning back, Keith meets Shiro’s steel-grey eyes. He’s good at dodging the bullets life throws at him, but the silver here is too mesmerising to ignore. For Shiro, he’d dive right into that firing line every single time.  
  
“Not everything.” Shiro’s voice drops to a low murmur then, melting Keith’s insides to raw advancing flames. “What does the colour red mean?”  
  
Keith realises then - it doesn’t matter if this is a little corny or cliché, because this is real. And before he can bow out, before his confidence wanes and gives way to the hollow fear carving itself into his bones, he surges forwards with his answer.

⚘

_Roses are red_

_Violets are blue_

_I hope it’s not obvious_

_Amaryllis are you_

⚘


End file.
